Project Morning Star: Destiny Rising
by Neon-Suhti
Summary: This is the first part of a project I have been working on for a long time. It will eventually blend a vast number of fairy tales and world mythologies together with high sci-fi fantasy. This first part basically picks up where the original Peter Pan left off picking up just after Hook gets swallowed by the Croc, only Pan destroys the Jolly Roger in ours instead of taking it.
1. Washed Ashore

Washed Ashore:

( Siren's Shore, North-Central Province, the Neverlands, the Realm of Ishrakie December 26th, 1904 C.E. )

Small bits of shell roll to and fro heaving starfish, seaweed, and a half digested man onto the sunlit sand. Captain James Hook digs bloodied digits and stump into the coarse sediment dragging his decimated frame up to the fingertips of the sea and collapses. His coat, pants, and boots were gone; lost in the churning gut of the crocodile. His sword; not lost but rather left on purpose sticking halfway from the creature's belly. It had been the key to his escape from the croc's putrid stomach. Thin, white underclothes torn to rags clinging to burnt and lacerated skin. The hair of his head eaten by stomach acid. Sharp pain slices through him with every breath of air as he coughs blood and seawater. Blurred vision scans the stormy sea.

Hook's mind fading in out of the now wandering back to the moment of his bitter defeat. Pan shimmering in his typical arrogant youthful splendor. So cocky, so smug in his victory; the little puke. The jarring clang off his blade as he trades blows with the Pan rings in his ears. He stands firm on the deck as the boy leaps from a barrel onto the railing and swings a loose line to the other side of the ship. Hook charges. As his blade leans in for the fatal kiss; the Pan spins to the side landing a glancing cut below Hook's knee. Hook stumbles into the railing and meets a geyser. The croc takes his head and shoulders and as they both fall back into the sea as he is swallowed completely.

"Peter blasted Pan! He was mine!" Screams Hook through burning insides and deathly agony. Jolts of pain from cracked ribs and weeping abrasions pull him back to present. Hook blinks and finally sensing the touch of the rain upon his face; whipped in sideways by the gale storm forming out at sea. His good hand lost, he tries to wipe his eyes with his bad hand only to find it stiff and immobile. He screams with rage a now broken man without even the strength to move himself. Warmth is lapped away from him with every incoming tide. Desperate and determined he summons up the last of his will, Shoving with all his strength, raging against the searing pain consuming him Hook rolls onto his back. He stares up at the scorched sky above him; a flash of light within the clouds, and deep rumble. Then suddenly a loud crack! A white hot jagged bolt strikes the coast waters.

Captain Hook tries to rub away the prismatic phantom left behind in his eyes but his arms refuse him. He shakes his head weakly causing a wave of pain and nausea to wash over him. He reopens his eyes, and his vision clears, staring bewildered at the site before him he he begins to heave heavy confused breaths as the sound of gleeful humming among the noise of the rumbling thunder fills his ear.

On the water comes a strolling figure. At first the being seems to be a tall flame, orange and twisting through the veil of rain before sharpening into a man seemingly gaunt with starvation. Garbed in a pumpkin orange, and pinstriped black. long row of coal black buttons keeps it the clothing tight against his ribs before allowing the orange cloth to flare out over matching trousers. Black shiny dress shoes flash in unison with the lightning.

The thin man steps to land and strolls over cheerfully to the beached and broken Hook crouching beside him. The jaunty man flips back the end of his scarf that came loose in the wind. Intricately cut and sewn from hundreds of rat pelts it had a heavy but dexterous nature and clung like a lover to the man's neck.

"Greetings James. I hope I'm not coming at a bad time."

"Arrarraghh!" Hook tries to yell obscenities at the oh so clever fruit pie gawking at him but the crocodile's stomach acid had burned its way down his throat and nose. Unable to speak Hook grows angrier, which only made him try even harder to scream until at last the pain peaks leaving Hook whimpering pitifully.

"Oh my, you seem to be dying, and without your sword or your good hand. Tisk Tisk. Look at you unarmed and whimpering. That's no way for a man of adventure like you to die. Crying like a little, prepubescent boy. Heh, heh, hee no sir. No, a man like you ought to die in a feather bed placed upon a pile of plunder while being pleasured by a gaggle of young girls and tender boys trained in the art of debauchery."

"Where are my manners? I never introduced myself. You probably have not heard of me fore my exploits were made famous in, shall we say, a place your ships cannot sail. You may call me, the Piper. If you are indeed not ready to meet your watery partner Davy Jones you need only make your mark upon this parchment. "

From his sleeve comes a rolled up document which the Piper whips open with a flourish. Then, the pen: a long quill with thin, black plumage. The piper maneuvers the pen into Hook's bad hand, and presents the document close to Hook's face.

"You will be erased from the book of death and granted the power to dangle Neverland from the tip of your…" He caresses Hook's decimated stump. "...Hook."

Croaking out of his salt burned throat, "The...terms?"

"Mistrustful to the end. That's good, I don't need a broken boy as my general in Neverland. I need you fighting. One day I will require your sword for one battle, and when it's done, we will be square. Is it a deal?" The Piper bends his brow and grins. Waiting for an answer as he straightens the cuff of his pants.

Hook lays on his back trembling, weak, bloated from salt water absorption, bleeding, anchored to his frame by the two chunks of blue glacier hatred of his eyes. The Piper holds his gaze. Then with a sudden violence Hook stabs the quill tip into the end of his stump. He begins to sign Capt but the piper lays a hand on the effort.

"Your proper name if you please."

The letters drag themselves out on the paper; shaky, blotched with sea spray, uneven blips from sand on parchment; James W. Fordon. As the 'n' completes his hand collapses to the sand and Captain James Hook's body smooths into a dead pudding puddle, barely breathing.

"Very good sir." The Piper straightens and sobers rolling the parchment and slipping it into his coat. "These are for you." He procures a small, black flake and a thumb sized clam. Bending down with a shrug and a shake he presses the clam into Hook's palm. "Grasp this m' boy. This is no ordinary mollusk."

Hook fails to respond to the Piper's request as darkness begins to overtake his vision and his body goes limp.

"Oh, now this won't do. You are too engrossed in death's symphony to get your orders."

The Piper mashes the black flake into the end of Hook's bloody stump. Veins grow out and in sinking into bone and muscle. Color blooms out from the chunk of carapace up his forearm and into his shoulder. Hook spasms and yells as the color reaches his chest. Chasms of torn flesh knit together, sagging muscles become piano wire. Dark hair sprouts from his scalp, stubble on his chin, and thick black down his chest. The spasms calm to local twitchings. Closed eyes gasp as though suffering nightmares.

The Piper unbuttoning the top of his coat, reaches an arm into the elbow and pulls out an item impossibly long, "When you face Pan again you will probably want this." Captain Hook's rapier tells its legends when placed upon the blank canvas of sand.

Hook gathers the sword and belt to his chest with his stump and begins to breathe regularly. He looks up at the Piper and shreds out a grimace-grin, "Bloody...good...form."

Shackling the sword belt over his torn underclothes he looks down at the clam the Piper gave him before tucking it into his belt. The Piper sidles up holding his hat down against a gust of wind, "Don't lose that Captain, it will be your guide through the Pale Waters."

"The Pale Waters? What would Captain James Hook…" He lifts his stump, sees his good hand is missing and frowns, "...want in those accursed waves?"

"Your throne of course. Hold the clam to the horizon and it will show you the way." Hook nods.

"The storm was blowing East-Southeast when we battled near Marooners' Rock. I must be on Mistmoon Island, or Siren's Shore."

"Very good Captain, this is indeed Siren's Shore. I'm afraid to say the storm was pushing your body ahead of it but now that you are stationary it will be upon you shortly."

Lightning streaks overhead illuminating the rain like diamonds, sketching the silhouettes of clouds and mountains in the distance. The clouds rolling over the whitecaps bringing solid darkness ever closer.

"How long do I have before you require my steel?"

Slapping him on the back The Piper smiles and puts an arm around Hook's shoulders shaking him playfully, "Plenty of time m' boy. Enjoy yourself. Take a merboy to bed, drink yourself into a stupor and get into a nice brawl or two." Hook scowls and spits casting his icy gaze to the stormy skies.

"Best we head inland."

"You go ahead chum. My business draws me elsewhere. I trust you understand what you need to do, hmm?"

Hook nods as he turns and begins making his way towards the tree line leaving and The Piper without another word.

The sun had finally set behind the frozen summits of the Snow Tomb Mountains. Hook had been trekking along the coast in search of his crew for over two hours. He was grateful for the shift from burning rays of the sun to the soothing gaze of the Neverlandian Moon. Pain pulsated through his right arm where the black flake had been forced into him. It almost seemed as if the blackness it had left on the end of his stump was spreading.

"Captain...captain…" shouts a voice from the nearby shadows. Hook pivots towards the direction of the voice, his sword drawn. Mr. Smee materializes from the shroud of bushes nearby. Relieved to see the face of his beloved first-mate and not fully recovered from his brush with death Hook's knees suddenly buckle. He slumps into Smee's arms.

"Sir! We thought you dead! Relax a moment, catch your breath..." Smee helps Hook to a nearby log. Hook leans forward on his knees and Smee takes off his coat and drapes it over the captain.

"We cannot have the crew see their captain in his long-wear." continued Smee.

"Good form Mr. Smee, good form." Hook painstakingly works his arms into the coat. He rubs his eyes and blinks. Edges sharpen once more and there crouches Smee in his worn and faded robes. "How did you find me?"

"The storm broke the Jolly Roger to pieces. Me and part of the crew made a quick dash for a dingy and ended up washed upon the same beach as you about a league down current. When I awoke I decided on a ranging and the winds of fortune brought me to you. Truly extraordinary good luck."

"Truly, indeed. Who came ashore with you?"

"Bill Dukes, Mr. Mason, Black Murphy, Cookson, Noodler, and Cecco. A few more have washed up but they were in no shape if you get my meaning sir."

"Is the dingy still sea-worthy?"

"Yes sir. We will need to make new oars but I can put the boys on it, have it done by tea time."

Smee leads Hook back to makeshift camp where he lays Hook down next to the fire surrounded by his comrades all of whom were sleeping noisily with the exception of the ever-vigilant Mr Mason who sat staring out to see. As Smee begins to pull away Hook turns to him.

"Thank you Mr. Smee. Tonight we make camp and prepare for portage."

The other men were in sunken and in sour spirits when Hook awoke. _Bleedin' Pan. Dirty coward makin' crocs fight his battles. Why hasn't any rum come ashore? Or a barrel of salt pork._ Captain Hook's awakening slices through their chagrin igniting an explosion of movement. Broad leafed bushes shake, sand flies up. The men tuck torn shirts into sagging britches. Black Murphy was bleeding from a long gash on his chest. Mason found a way to get even uglier by having a chunk of his hair torn out. Blood dried over one side of his face and the scab was caked with sand and loose hair. Noodler had no shirt as he had tied its remnants around a wound on his thigh. Cecco was so pale he might have been dunked in milk but appeared unhurt otherwise. Bill Dukes and Cookson were covered in small cuts but one had to look close to notice due to the amount of ink covering Dukes, and the ebony colored skin of Cookson. Despite their injuries and the loss of the Jolly Roger Captain Hook's resurrection summoned mighty cries from the pirates. Several Lemurs and a Graxx scurried from the vicinity chasing after a rather quick Furetalla that cunningly took refuge in a nearby tree.

"Alright men, our mistress requires oars. Who's gonna give 'em to her?" asks Hook firmly.

"AAAhhh Hooooo!" The pirates scatter into action.

"Mr. Smee, we have a destination." says Hook turning to Smee and pulling him aside firmly.

"Where is that sir?" asks Smee attentively.

"The Pale Waters."

Smee stares at his captain bleary eyed, plagued with sparse stubble. The skin of his face sucks in and droops. Battered, sore shoulders pull themselves back, and go rigid as his spine makes physical a cold touch of fear. "Aye, Captain." Hook strides off toward the beach rubbing his thumb over the Piper's clam.

"Begging your pardon Captain but I's don't see the good in lugging our boat over the land. Boats is made for water." Asks Mr. Mason meekly.

"I'm once again reminded how that mug of yours hides a dizzying intellect. But you see Mr. Mason what we are about to undertake will not be like a raid on a village where we get the choice meat and the choice women. It won't even be like boarding a high class merchant ship filled with silks and caviar. No, no, no. We are going take the very heart of Neverland. I will be its king and you all will be my noble lords." replies Hook casting his eyes to Mr. Mason with an amused grin.

"Lord Noodler. I like me the sound uh that." says Noodler as he passes them by.

"You see Mr. Mason, our portage through the hills will allow us to infiltrate Blackfrost Port undetected by the Port Guard in Raven Cove. Surprise Mr. Mason will be our greatest weapon in this endeavor."

Black Murphy uprooted small trees and the men shaped them into crude oars with stones shattered sharp. The crew and Smee hoisted the boat to their shoulders and curled their arms around oar bundles. Hook stomped before them hacking a path through the underbrush with his sword. With mostly empty bellies the men stopped every hour to rest. In the mountain passes Smee showed them how to lay the oars down and slide the boat over the top with two men picking up the back oar after they passed it and putting it in front until the terrain made such methods of portage impractical. Four men heaved the boat onto their shoulders like pallbearers would a coffin. Noodler scouted ahead from the dense jungle canopy, scampering limb to limb with his bizarre hands.

As they moved into the deep jungle the small trees were replaced by thick ancient goliaths. Masses of leaves and vines clothed the trunks, and the ground was uneven and difficult to traverse. The ground plants became larger as well and Smee joined Hook in the role of hacking a path through the Shade Shrubs, Nightmare Orchids, Jungle Fang Lilies and Clumps of Faery Ferns sometimes unnesting groups of their flying namesakes.

The more he swung his blade the more normal Hook felt. He relaxed and thought back to when he first arrived in Neverland. Much of that time had been spent in the Neverwoods to the west chasing the native indian girls, or lounging on the rough gray shell of a boulder tortoise. Sometimes he would go on an occasional expedition into this very jungle plucking nuts and fruits from the slow passing Walker Trees as they trudge along their ancestral routes. Many years and ten score that many pints of Nectar Rum had since dulled those once cherished and vivid memories. All he knew now was head up and push forward.

Hours passed as they continued their tedious march through the the men were not hauling the ship they scurried about gathering food; some collecting seeds, roots, and nuts while others speared wild Koalas and Keejos. Hook loved the magnificent taste of Keejos Legs when prepared properly, just put em in the fire Monkey fir and all; made 'em crispy on the outside. Their bat-like wings could even be sewn into temporary makeshift water skins. Wild Fairies tickled the men carrying the boat. Hook looked back. The group of salt infused killers squirmed around like filthy children and the wretched high-pitched giggling of the fairies caused his teeth to ache.

"Mr. Smee! Show these putrid creatures what we think of their games." demanded Hook. His tone carried his deep disdain for all things whimsical.

"Aye Captain" replied Smee as he swiveled with his elegantly curved blade. The blade whizzed, striking out quick as a viper. Two fluorescent wings disconnected from their tiny owner. Luminescent blood spewed from it's back and its glow flickered as the tiny creature spiraled to the ground. The fairies try frantically to escape as the terrifying and powerful aura radiating from Smee shakes them to their core. Smee strikes out again with rapid unforgiving precision. Seconds later the remaining fairies litter the ground, dead or on their way. Smee casts his blood-thirsty stare at the men reminding them why the slight, mild mannered man holds the position of first mate. The crew trembles and hefts the boat resolutely.

Smee then turns to Hook. Hook's nonchalance extinguishes the intensity of Smee's gaze. Hook walks over to Smee and places an affirming arm around him. The two look down at the fairy Smee had just dewinged as it flops around on the ground writhing, puking blood, and screaming with pain. Hook smiles at Smee wickedly. Back in control of himself Smee gives only a subtle nod and all is understood between the two old friends. Hook brings down his bare foot hard on the wingless fairy grinding it into the ground. The sound of tiny breaking bones and bursting arteries bringing them both to mutual state of momentary euphoria.

"Right men carry on, chop chop" shouted Hook as he and Smee turn their eyes back to the men both of them now rather calm, soothed by the bloody satisfaction that the brutal act they had just committed provided them. After a few more hours marching night finally descended upon the Neverlands. Hook decided that the men would would make camp on the west side of the Snow Tomb Mountains among the Shatter Stone Ruins to protect them from the bitter cold of the mountain's western side. Gathered around the burning campfire they rested with the hopes that tomorrow's travels would bring them closer to finding some spring waters they could follow to the banks of Blood Creek proper and with any luck.

Cookson was the first to succumb to sleep, just an hour after they made camp for the night. Feeling the need for mischief Bill Dukes caught a yellow spotted Ambush Spider and placed it on Cookson's chest; the arachnids legs neatly sprawled out spanning his belly with its two fore-legs lifted in warning.

"Avast! We've run aground! All hands!" shouts Bill Dukes with a voice spiced with panic waking Cookson abruptly. Cookson's eyes flutter open as he sits up on his elbows looking around. After a second his vision clears and his eyes swell with fear as he realizes he is face to face with the spider on his chest.

"Eee yee yee yaaah!" Shrieks Cookson as he wriggles back to get away but the spider clings to his rags and flares its fangs. He attempts to swat the spider away aggressively with his right arm to avail but then using his thumb and forefinger he plucks a leg of the spider and tosses it away. The Spider lands on Noodler who swipes down at it several times before fully dislodging it from his thigh. The Spider falls to the ground hissing at them menacingly before turning and scurrying away into the brush. The whole company laughs; Captain Hook the loudest of all.

"Bloody good show! Bravo!" shouts Hook accompanied by Smee who whistles and cheers as well. Cookson pouts and puts his back to a nearby pillar; rubbing nervously at his neck and arms as though still feeling the legs of the spider on him. Cookson catches a glimpse of Bill Dukes grinning like a smart-ass schoolboy a few paces away automatically revealing to Cookson who was the perpetrator of the dirty prank.

"Ya Bastard! Wha if it ad bitten me? Them are poisonous ya know..." shouts Cookson to Dukes.

"Puttin a nasty thing like 'at on man unawares, and a fellow crew-mate ta boot. Special hell reserved fer dem types."

The rest of the crew had stopped listening already. Dukes stretches out beneath a large nearby fir tree and eating some nuts and berries out of his hat.

Hook takes first watch despite Smee's protest. He had never felt more awake, more vigorous and alert. His muscles were singing and crying out for action. Hook could not believe how warm and alive the worn leather of this sword handle felt however his stub was throbbing with a powerful itching pain. Feeling rather nimble and brave as if suddenly infused once again with his long faded youth Hook decides to have some fun.

Hook looks around first to make sure he is not being observed before abruptly turning and making his way up the nearest snow burdened fir tree strong enough to hold him. Hook climbs the tree as high as he dares unphased by the freezing touch of the icy white dust and then carefully balancing himself he walks gracefully and skillfully out on one of the thicker limbs of the tree. The branch was about as thick as his chest so he felt secure that it could support his weight with relative ease.

At first he looked down the mountainside for any sign of movement but soon he resigned himself to simply lay back on the branch and watch the Snow Light Flies dancing around him carried high on the updrafts rising up the side of the mountain. All through the white glistening forest covered slopes were loose pillars of blinking insects; flashing dazzling red, yellow, blue, and even purple. Brilliant waves of light dancing in the heavens above. Suddenly tired, he let his head fall back resting soothed by all its breathtaking beauty.

He was not looking at the sky to find his way through the uncharted sea or to navigate his way through a treacherous storm, he was merely looking and it just for the sake of looking and for the first time he finally realized just how wondrous it was; he had never felt so powerful, so alive. It was then that an overwhelming sense of certainty and clarity consumed his mind and he could the see the entirety of his path laid out before him; in his mind's eye he could see beyond the forests beyond his arrival at the Pale Waters, beyond him claiming his rightful place as god of the Neverland all the way to moment he desired most; the moment when Pan's lifeless body would be dangling like a bloodied rag-doll at the end of this sword his heart and nether regions removed with his entrails strewn out spewing streams of red as his men had their horrifying sadistic fun with Pan's pathetic followers, the ever-petulant Lost Boys. It was all so clear and soon he would make it a reality. With a heart full of new promise and certain about the future Hook smiled with glee at the destruction he would soon bring to the Neverlands.

A few moments passed as Hook sat high up on the branch looking for any signs of trouble as he pulled out his pipe, and began to puff away, enjoying the sweet smooth minty sweet taste of Neverland Snow Hemp. He knew he did not need to really worry too much after all the only thing that could really cause him or his men any trouble in the Neverwoods would be a band stray Indian braves and he doubted they would wander this far from their overly defended spit of land. He ran a finger over the black mark on his stump the Piper gave him, to his surprise it was hot to the touch; almost searingly so.

When Smee called up to him saying he would take over the watch Hook dismissed him a wrist flick.

"Very well Mr. Smee, put your eyes to the bush, I'll take a nice spell of sleep where I am." responded Hook giving into to Smee's insistence to take watch, after all a nice sleep sounded rather good to Hook right now.

"But Captain, if you turn over in the night you'll…" persisted Smee in a concerned voice.

"I'm well aware of the danger Mr. Smee as your are aware how much I detest being questioned, now off with you!" interrupted Hook with a tone of obvious irritation. Hook continued to replay the magnificent moment of him killing Peter Pan over and over in his mind letting the sound of Peter's screams and cries lullaby him to sleep.

Hook awoke at Cecco's touch; hand on sword hilt. The still pale Cecco twisted the end of his mustache and grinned before swinging nimbly down to the ground. The humidity covered him in a thick film of water which he found unpleasant as it was unsalted. The hair that had grown back slick and healthy from The Piper's magic had gone to tangles.

The crew got up groggily also unaccustomed to the warm humidity of the forest. Hook barked orders and in a short time a fire was built, a pile of berries and mushrooms grew, and Black Murphy skewed a wild pig and a luminescent peacock. These birds spread impressive tail feathers that glowed different colors to denote a threat, or a mating call. In death it made a fine meal. After breakfast the crew put the boat back onto their shoulders. During their first rest a group of Cherub Monkeys flew by trailing gold traces of Pixie Dust. They saw more pigs and had to circumvent the horizontal tornado webs of the Ambush Spider. By mid afternoon they had found the spring waters of Blood Creek. Up went a whoop and a yeehah. Cookson and Black Murphy danced a merry foxtrot around the boat. Mason tried to do the same with Noodler whose backward hands made it awkward. Everyone gathered water into their hands and drank their fill.

"Very good men! Now it's only a matter of following the old girl down the mountain until she can handle our vessel." Hook gestured to Smee to get the men back under the boat. Before he has a chance to relay the order Cecco nudges Smee.

"I always did have a problem with others handling my vessel." Smee grimaces at the remark and points Cecco toward the boat.

Two hours down the mountain and the trickle of water they were following had swelled into shallow rapids. They saw up ahead a Phantom Stag. The creature stood ten feet tall and had dappled green fur. It was colored in such a way that it became nearly invisible in the thick of the forest. The males wielded large racks of horns that grew moss everywhere but the tips. This was a male. It bent its head to the water and lapped. Hook lifted his stump as a signal to stop. Smee sidled up. "It still hasn't seen us Captain. I advise we stay put and wait for it to move on."

The Stag stepped deeper into the creek and disturbed a Keejo that was hiding below the surface. The amphibious bat jumped from the water spraying the Stag's face as it takes flight towards the pirates. Turning towards the Keejo's path the Stag caught sight of Hook and his men. Years of hard living gave the pirates a threatening aura despite their apprehension toward the large beast. It brought it's head to full height. Flapping wild trying to dry its wings the Keejo flew between Hook and Smee and into the center of the crew holding up the boat. Startled, the men jostled and lost control of the boat which they dropped to one side. It came down on a pile of half rotten sticks crunching them and flinging pieces into the air. The Stag snorted as it pawed the ground; shaking its horns causing the moss hanging from them to dance. It takes a step forward. It dips its head, then lifts it shaking its horns again. Two warnings.

"No avoiding this one Mr. Smee. We're deep in his rutting ground."

Hook moves forward, dirty, raggedly clothed. His body projected violence wound tight. Naked feet carries him up a fallen tree. The Stag rears, stomps the ground. The log brings Hook level with the twisting complex of organic spikes. They rise. A curtain of moss strands goes past Hook's eyes. Ten feet high now the beast churns front hooves and appears like Mother Nature's wrath incarnate.

"Come and get a blade in yer belly ya over-sized pony."

Hook feints with half-hearted jab towards the Stag's chest. It flails its hooves swatting the blade. It turns its head aiming one set of horns at the perched Captain. Hook leaps to the side. He reaches out with his hook and catches the other set of horns. With a tight swing he mounts the Stag.

It bucks. Hook unlatches from the rack. He hooks again at the base of the horns. The Stag rages, jumps spraying water from the stream. Dirt and fern fronds fly about. Small logs crack under the beast's great weight. Hook digs his heels in. He stabs into the Stag's neck and shoulders. The thin blade of his rapier struggles in the creature's thick fur and hide.

The Stag stumbles. Hook face plants onto the creature's neck. When the Stag recovers Hook's sword arm comes up wide hitting the blade against the horns. The sword disappears into underbrush.

Hook loses his focus. The Stag thrashes bouncing Hook with more and more fervor. He can feel the straps of his good hand loosening. During one bounce he gets his feet up on the Stag's back. Attempts to stand. The Stag spins and hurls Hook forward between its horns. His good hand maintains. Hook dangles down the creature's forehead with legs out in open air before the great omnivorous incisors.

Square teeth like splitting mauls dig into cloth around Captain Hook's little first mate. Hook squirms. The teeth catch the flesh of his stomach, hips, buttocks. With every bite he feels the eyes of his crew watching him get flung about like a silly child. Then out of nowhere he feels it, the cold all-consuming rage. It was the blazing furious fire of chaotic vigor he thought age had drained from him long, but now it was back and he was feeling better then ever. Suddenly radiant burning hot surges of sensation begin rushing from his chest to the end of his stump infusing his every tendon, muscle and membrane with lightning like ecstasy. It was the overwhelming embrace of pure unadulterated power. It is the ecstasy of pointing a single finger and watching a legion march in that direction unleashing a tidal wave of devastation. This time though, the feeling was more than Hook had ever felt, it was some how more pure... potent... weaponized.

Screaming like a maniacal mad-man Hook heaves himself up onto the Stag's head. He frees his good hand and lifts it high. From beneath the leather sheath that covers his stump as vibrant ethereal plumes of plasmatic vapor snake in and out of his stump. The strange mist like plumes of energy defy vision sometimes appearing as opaque black smoke, sometimes looking like a thing seen only for a moment in the periphery. The smoke engulfs Captain Hook's good hand and spreading up and down his forearm as a intricate lattice. Then, suddenly the strange plumes of energy solidifies into a vicious and twisted jagged black hook.

Curved carapace catches the beams of light coming through the gaps in the canopy of the trees above as Hook raises it high above him screaming wildly. The Stag bellows with agony as Hook brings the black carapace hook down hard sinking it deep into the Stag's neck at the skull's base. The beast bellows again writhing and bucking in unimaginable pain. The sound of the Stag's dying screams goes out to touch every leaf and beetle in the forest and they recognize its progenitor. Smee and the crew feel the forest gasp. The ground twitches and tree limbs curl like toes.

Hook yanks and rips with the hook cleaving bone and spinal tissue. The Stag's legs go into seizure. It falls hard to the ground pulling Hook down with it, the spike of one of its antlers jabbing into Hook's right arm. Hook roars and drags his new weapon further into the Stag's skull. The back of the skull splits open sending a bloody spray and gushing out covering the the ground below. Brain, skin, and cartilage fly into his hair and beard. The great rack of horns split the skull of the Stag even more as their weight pulls the head completely apart.

Hook curses loudly as he rises of the beast and back to his feat pulling the sharp bit of antler the Stag had stuck him with from his right arm. More ethereal energy vapor pours from the opening wound causing a warm sensation as the hole made by the Stage's Antler in his right arm suddenly begins to heal rapidly, within minutes the wound is completely healed as if it was never even there however instead of scar Hook finds a small patch of the same black carapace substance that had already consumed his good hand, from his forearm to the tip of his hook.

"Good form."

Hook retrieves his sword. As he rejoins the crew, Bill Dukes removes his soiled cap. Dumbstruck, they fidget and feel a new level of fear and respect blanket their loyalty centers.

"Pick up your jaws men! What are you? Lost Boys in ladies knickers? I will not have it! Smee!"

Hook makes vague gestures. Smee interprets, and turns to the men. They are moving again in moments.

At last Hook and his company of fellow pirates make it to the banks of Blood Creek proper where the river runs both strong enough and deep enough for them to use the boat. The sun shines radiant amber on the verge of high noon.

"Alright men get her in the water and let's get this show on the road. I want Cecco on point with his rifle at the ready and Smee you shall watch our rear. Cookson, Dukes, Mason, and Murphey you are on rowing duty. Noodler you shall be our Spotter and for bloody-sake keep your eyes open men, they don't call it Blood Creek for nothing." shouts Hook as he gestures for the towards the great flowing creek. After several hours of relatively smooth sailing they had managed to make significant progress towards Blackfrost Port and Hook was positive they would arrive at their destination just after nightfall, which was perfect for what he had in mind.


	2. Under Cover of Night

Under Cover of Night:

( Blackfrost Port, South-Western Province, the Neverlands, the Realm of Ishrakie December 28th, 1904 C.E. )

Mournful silence permeates the darkened chambers of the shattered mistress her bitter heart filled with anger and grief as tears threaten to overwhelm her demeanor of forced calmness. Suddenly into the room shuffles a ragged looking man, his tearful gaze locked on his feet, wringing his hat in his hands.

"Mistress? I am so sorry mistress but I come bearing the worst of news." says the man addressing the heavy hearted mistress his voice shaky with sorrow.

"Then the rumors are true." her voice coated with the fragile veneer of false strength, trying desperately to mask the the savage aching that was filling bosom.

"I'm afraid so mistress, one of our scouting ships located the remains of the Jolly Roger and her crew, and found this floating amongst the dead" The Mistress turns to face the young messenger eyes filled with suppressed sorrow, her voice strong yet solemn.

"Then let the Blackfrost Bells toll, fore dark is the hour. We must summon the Council of Lords."

"With haste mistress."

"Right men, our mission is simple; commandeer a worthy vessel and make swift for the cursed waves of the Pale Waters. Oh and men above all we must not be seen, the element of surprise is crucial to our success on this new path."

"Aye Captain"

With that said Hook's men instantly become one with the night moving low to the ground and sticking to the shadows, quick and quiet they press on making their way to the Main Docks.

Luckily for Hook and his men the night was dark as the clouds hung thick in the sky blocking out the dancing silver rays of the moon's light. Hook could not help but be slightly amused at the sad somber faces on the pathetic drunken fools inside the many taverns they passed, no doubt they had already heard reports of his fatal defeat at the hands of the ever annoying Peter Pan and the destruction of the Jolly Roger. He snickered slightly as he could hear their wails, cries, and drunken slurred eulogies to him the Great Hook now fallen. Though a small twinge of guilt did tug ever so slightly at his blackened bitter heart strings as the thought hit him that there is one person he did care about in this place who is no doubt shedding the most tears for him; Catherine Thorn the eternally beautiful and ruthless mistress of Blackfrost Port but he decided it was best not to think about her sadness and instead remember that her sadness while great would be easily remedied when he reveals the truth of this fate at the proper time. First he must have his throne and then he may have resurrection. He was sure they had already rang the Blackfrost Bells as soon as they caught wind of his demise, soon all the Port Lords from all over the Neverlands would be arriving in Blackfrost for Council, it was all too perfect thought Hook.

After about thirty minutes of skulking in shadows and dodging patrols they made it to the Main Docks. They could not believe their luck for docked right before them among a few other fine vessels was the Stille Jäger the fastest deadliest ship in all of the Neverlands other than Jolly Roger. It was a perfect ship for him to claim as it could also be operated with a smaller crew than the Jolly Roger and though smaller than the Jolly Roger it still packed a heavy punch when in battle. Her current pathetic crew had all already made their way into the various port taverns to drink and mourn the fallen Lord of Blackfrost Port. Hook was loving it and his snicker growing wider as with every mental image of the drunken saddened fools. They mourned for him despite him being not just alive but feeling far better and far stronger than he ever had before.

Hook gestured with glee for his men to commandeer the vessel and after a flurry rapid yet silent movement the ship was ready to cast off for the Pale Waters.

Hook rushed to the Captain's Quarters before returning to the main deck smiling at his men with a large red bottle of Neverlandian Spiced Rum in his hand. Then with a manner of jubilant mock ceremony Hook pops open the bottle and takes a large swig before handing it off to Smee and gesturing congratulations to his men as they sailed stealthy away towards the open sea.

Hook and his men sat gathered around the makeshift conference table with large map of the Neverlands laid out before them. Each of them was busy contemplating the question at hand, the question of how to reach the Pale Waters as quickly as possible without being detected. It was obvious to all that the first challenge in reaching the Pale Waters would be making it out of the Fryst Sea without being detected by the sentries at Fryst Port or the sentries stationed at Raven's Torch Lighthouse but then what? What would become of them as they sailed forward into the Forbidden Southern Waters of the Neverlands where no mortal men dare sail. After about an hour of discussion they all agreed the best path would be to sail out of the Fryst Sea via the south west sticking as close as possible to the western shore of Fryst Vilde Tribal Province. This way as long as they sailed swift and silent they should be able to pass by the Raven's Torch Lighthouse and out of the Fryst Sea undiscovered.

The decided route worked and after just a few hours of swift and silent sailing they made it out the Fryst Sea unseen and were well on their way into the Forbidden Southern Waters of the Neverlands. The Southern Waters were disturbingly calm and shrouded in an unnerving veil of thick mist unlike anything the crew had ever seen. The air seemed stale and carried with it a strange heavy feeling of dread like the last breath of a dying man. The mist was suffocating but Hook remembered the gift the Piper had given him.

Removing the clam from his pocket he held it out in front of them his arm out stretched as a beam of light suddenly springs forth from out of the clam piercing a tiny yet consistent and precise hole through the thick mist. They followed the tiny beam of light for three whole days until at last on the night of third day they finally broke free of the mist and found themselves beholding the most magnificent star littered sky they had ever seen filling the crew with awe and wonder but it was to be short lived as off the distance before them they saw something that turned their spirits from amazement and wonder to uneasiness and worry fore out of the waters ahead of them rose the towering skeletal remains of a monstrous titan of a creature, it's spin jutting forth out of the water like a mountain range. Hook's men looked upon it as fright filled their minds with unsettling questions.

"What you reckon it was Captain, it's massive." asks Mr Mason, his voice trembling.

"I guess now we know what killed the dragon of Dragon Spine Island. What do you make of it Mr. Smee?" replies Hook.

"I don't know sir but whatever it was let's hope it was the last of it's kind in these waters sir."answers Smee.

"I could not agree more Mr. Smee, right now let's find our heading." continues Hook as he removes the clam the Piper had given him from his pocket once again and holds it up to the horizon. Again the clam emitted a bright shimmering light guiding to the south east.

The crew followed the light from the clam for about two more days until at last off the in distance they saw their journey's end for just beyond the horizon glowed a massive pillar of blinding pale white light. They had at last located the legendary Pale Waters, the only thing left to do now was the reach them and pray the legends held no truth.


	3. The Boy Peter

The Boy Peter:

( Kirriemuir Cemetery, Kirriemuir, Angus, Scotland, January 24th, 1866 C.E. )

The heavenly shroud of glistening stars and milky flaxen dust was just starting to bloom in the sky as the moon's phantom glow descends softly upon the shadowed grounds of the Kirriemuir Cemetery illuminating the grass covered slopes littered with grave markers, all of them alone and all of them at rest in silence except for one. At one of the headstones kneels a young boy with jet-black hair, dressed in a dark grey suit tailored to suit his young and petite stature. The young boy's head rested heavy against the polished headstone of one David Ogilvy Barrie. His heart heavy with the sorrow, his eyes bore the redness of one recently consumed by tearful grieving, though clearly he had run out of tears some time ago. He was now on the emotional down-slope as his voice had long since calmed. This was not the first time the boy had come to this grave vesseling fresh flowers and a heart heavy with loss but the experience was still new enough to him that it had not lost it's painful heart-wrenching edge completely.

"Mother stayed in her room again today, she never leaves it anymore. It has been almost three months since you left us and she still does nothing but cry. She misses you so much. I try to comfort her but, like always, she just looks right through me as if I am not even there. Why did you have to go David? Mother is so sad without you, and there is nothing I can do to help her feel better." says the young boy with a tone of despair and a hint of pleading.

"Dearest David…" the young boy places a tender hand on the headstone, his fingers ghosting over the engraved letters with the tremble of longing.

"I know it is wrong to blame you for leaving me alone with her, but …." The young boy climbs to his feet animating his frustration.

"I just wish there was something I could do to help her not be so sad." The boy turns his eyes up to the sky with the sudden realization of how late it was getting.

"Night is falling... I better head back. I pray you find peace David, I really do, and don't worry about mom. I will find someway to make her happy, I promise." says the youth solemnly as he turns and begins making his way down the hill following the path out of the cemetery. When without warning the world seems to stop, the air suddenly goes stale as two small sparks of energy come streaking down towards the very headstone the boy had just bestowed with his tears.

"What manner of strangeness is this?" mutters the young boy with a tone bewilderment as he turns and begins cautiously making his way back to investigate the falling dazzling sparks. He kneels down in an effort to stay hidden as he draws close to where the sparks had touched down and to his surprise where he had expected to find scorched and damaged earth he instead found a shimmering blonde haired, faye boy dressed in vines and emerald leafs floating gently down onto the cool green grass as a dancing glowing golden ball of light zooms to and fro around him. The young boy was entranced by the radiant aura of the faye boy before him, but at the same time he was afraid , never before had he seen anything so mesmerizing. After a few minutes of staring in awe the boy decided he better make his escape just in case this vision was hostile, moving as slowly as he could and as quickly as he dared the boy tried to move stealthily backwards down the hill out of the cemetery but before he could even take his first step backwards he was suddenly stopped dead in his tracks by the most warm and soothing voice he had ever heard.

"Hello Jamie, I always knew you were special." the faye boy turns to him with eyes like dazzling, deep pools of swirling jade.

"Excuse me but I do not believe I know you." responds Jamie with a cautious, and fearful voice while still trying desperately to back away but unable to will himself to move.

"True but you can see me and that means you are very special indeed" responds the faye boy as he begins ghosting his way towards Jamie.

"This isn't possible, this can't be happening it just can't be..." stammers Jamie with disbelief.

"Be what? Real" the faye boy pokes Jamie on the forehead playfully as he smiles awkwardly at Jamie and causing Jamie to stumble back slightly.

"See I am real or at least real enough" says the faye boy with a small laugh.

"Then what are you? Who are you?" asks Jamie.

"Well first off my name is Peter. As for what I am... I am the protector of the souls of fallen children. Children like your brother David..." answers Peter kneeling down and placing a hand on David's headstone for a moment before standing back up.

"So you know David? Do you know where he is now? Is he happy?" responds Jamie.

"Yes I know David, I carried his soul to the afterlife and yes he is very safe and very happy. David's soul now resides in the Neverplaces where he can dwell in splendor forever. He wants you to know that he does not blame you for what happened to him and that he is sorry he had to leave you all alone with your mother but it was his time." continues Peter in a warm, soft voice as he embraces Jamie with a warm reassuring hug.

"I… I just wish I knew how to help my mother. She does not need me, she needs David." says Jamie with dismay.

"Then for now give her David but never forget who you are inside. After all without you who will write about me." responds Peter with a smirk.

"What do you mean by that?" says Jamie laughing nervously.

"One day when you meet some very rambunctious boys and their loving mother you will understand" whispers Peter in Jamie's ear as Jamie's legs suddenly give out causing him to fall limply against Peter's chest causing Peter to finally notice the extreme level of fatigue in Jamie's eyes.

"You're tired, I should get you home… Here hold on to me." says Peter as he scoops Jamie up into his arms.

"No... wait what did you mean when you said I should give my mother David for now?" interrupts Jamie desperately.

"Shhh, you'll figure it out. Now just close your eyes and sleep. Do not worry we will meet again someday, I promise" continues Peter placing a hand over Jamie's eyes causing him to fall instantaneously into a deep sleep. Peter then with a gentle leap into the air takes off into the starry night sky towards Jamie's house.

Upon reaching the small white walled house of little Jamie Peter quietly opens the second floor window to Jamie's room. Then ghosting gently down to the floor he walks over to the bed and tucks Jamie in, and with one last smile Peter turns and leaps back out the window. Peter grins excitedly at Tink who had finally caught up to him after cleansing David's grave. Together the two of them cast their eyes to the jewel speckled heavens before suddenly shooting forth with immense speed shattering beyond the second star to the right and straight on until morning.


	4. World as a Passing Blur

World as a Passing Blur:

( England, September 7th, 1920 C.E. )

John Darling sat resting his head against the window of the train staring out of it, the world existing only as passing blur of a landscape as his mind drifted back to the day that changed his life forever. He wished he had stopped his sister from going, he wished they had not listened to Peter but they were just children then and he was the boy in the window offering to set them free. The time they spent with Peter from that first leap out of their window to the night they returned home soaring through a sea of stars from that land of dreams had been filled with wonder and excitement but for all the joyful memories of adventure it had given them it could never have been worth the toll it would have on their lives and their family after they came back home.

The happiness and euphoria that had been so present upon the night of their return did not take long to turn to destructive anger and fear. That first night after they came back their parents just happy to have them home did not force the question of where they had gone or how they vanished from their rooms the night they left this world behind. Mr. Darling had even been willing to take in the Lost Boys but it was not long before their parents began to want answers and it was quickly apparent the truth would serve only to bring damnation to all of them who had returned.

They knew their parents would never believe a truth so much stranger and more wonderful than any fiction. Wendy did her best to tell their parents a story she thought they could believe, she told them that they had been taken under cover of night from their beds by unknown assailants who had blindfolded them. At first the story seemed to work, the fact that they said they had been blindfolded allowed them to avoid any real probing on the appearance of the ones who had taken them but there were other questions that kept coming at them making it more and more difficult for them to keep their stories straight and believable. Wendy did her best to shield her siblings and the Lost Boys from most of the questioning but the holes in their story began to become bigger and more numerous as their parents questions continued to flow.

In the absence of the truth their parents settled on the idea that what really happened must have been so horrible that their children themselves were too afraid to accept it. That was when he came and changed everything.


	5. Vincent Frost

Vincent Frost:

( London, England, January 3rd, 1905 C.E. )

It was a bitter cold night as London slept blanketed in a shimmering layer of white. Mr. Darling exited the bank exhausted, his long and uncommonly difficult day at work was finally over. He started making his way back home his mind heavy with evermore questions about what had happened that night not too long ago when his beloved children had made their way back through the nursery window accompanied by a scraggly troop of wild boys. Mr Darling loved his children and had even over the course of the last few days become quite attached to the Lost Boys but there was just so many questions to be answered and he could not understand why his daughter kept lying to him, after all he was only asking for the truth. Why? Why was Wendy so unwilling to tell him? Does she not trust her own father enough to give him the truth. Children just don't disappear through a second-story window in the middle of night without a trace and if they really were abducted like Wendy claims why is there so many holes in her story, the biggest one being the Lost Boys themselves. How can he fulfill his role as her father in this situation if she will not tell him what really happened? Mr. Darling was about half way home, lost deep in thought when suddenly all streets lamps flickered out darkening the street and pulling his mind back to his surroundings.

The frigid winter wind that had been ghosting across his face just moments ago swiftly vanished as a deep feeling of unnerving absolute stillness filled the air as if the world had stopped turning. All was disturbingly silent for what seemed like forever but then he hears it, the unmistakable echo of footsteps coming closer reverberating from a near by alley. Mr. Darling turns to face the direction of the footsteps as they continued to draw closer and closer to him. Mr. Darling's heart begins to race as fear starts to claw at his mind making him shudder. Mr. Darling tries in vain to step backwards away from the coming foot steps but it is no use, he is frozen…helpless... petrified by fear.

Mr Darling tries to scream... voiceless until at last the footsteps were now upon him as from out of the shadows emerges a strange figure strolling towards him staring at him with deep and unnaturally radiant lunar-pale eyes that seemed to almost glow like illuminated gems in the darkness of the night. Mr Darling could feel the man's gaze piercing him, looking deep into his soul filling Mr. Darling with a chill unlike anything he had ever known.

The man finally comes to a halt in front of him tapping the ground at his feet with his walking stick as the world seemingly kicks back into effect restoring the wind to it's natural wintery blow and all the street lamps to glow once more.

"Hello Mr. Darling, my name is Vincent Frost and I am here to help you." says the man smiling warmly reaching out his hand to Mr. Darling. Vincent was dressed in dark black slacks, black button-up shirt, and long-coat with silver buttons. Vincent's skin was pale as the moon and his hair was a radiant shade of gold. His Walking Stick was made of shimmering silver with handle shaped like the head of a raven.

"Wa… Was that you just now?" asked Mr Darling shakily simultaneously both captivated by and afraid of Vincent.

"Was what me?" responds Vincent cooly casting a quick unsettling smile at Mr. Darling who being of the timid sort and still clearly suspicious of the stranger standing before him hand outstretched cautiously shakes Vincent's hand.

"Wha… what do you want?" asks Mr. Darling shakily.

"It is not about what I want, it is about knowing the truth, such as the truth about what happened to your children that night. Where did they go? Why did they go?" Says Vincent his voice calm and casual with a gentle smile. Mr. Darling grabs Vincent by his collar aggressively his caution and slight fear now turned to anger by his building frustrations.

"I don't know who are or what you think you know about me and my children but we are just an ordinary family and if you ever come near my kids I'll.." growls Mr. Darling still wringing the collar of the smiling and calm Vincent.

"You'll what?" interrupts Vincent as Mr. Darling's hands suddenly grow bitter cold as if all the blood in them had turned to ice causing him to let go Vincent's collar.

"This is absurd, you just stay away from me and stay away from my family." roars Mr. Darling through gritted teeth before turning and starting to make his way home once again.

"There is more to this than you know, we can help, when you're ready." shouts Vincent to the now quickly fading outline of Mr. Darling and with those final words Vincent turns his gaze to the shimmering stars that freckle the night sky like the speckles of a robin's egg. Then with a soft inaudible whisper Vincent vanishes dissipating into nothingness on the chill winter wind.

Alas Mr. Darling finally makes it home with a sigh of relief as he steps briskly over the threshold leaving the nippy frigid clutches of the night behind him, allowing the soothing waves of the crackling hearth to fill his body; restoring heat to his veins but doing little to warm his spirits. Mrs. Darling was playing a soft gentle tune on the piano as the sounds of Nana wrangling Slightly, Tootles, and Nibs into the upstairs bathtub for their nightly wash-up reverberates through the house. For a moment Mr. Darling would of almost let himself believe that things were, for at least a moment, back to normal but all in all it was of course just an illusion.

Ever since their children vanished through the window that night leaving the watchful eyes of the London nightlights far behind them the once peaceful and simple nature of their family had been by all accounts completely shattered in a way that made Mr. Darling fear it could never be repaired. Mr. Darling takes off his top hat and long coat and places them on the rack by the door before making his way into the living room, kneeling down next to the piano and placing a intended-to-be loving kiss on his wife's cheek letting the fire warm his bones and her radiance warm his soul, though if truth be told it did little to thaw the growing chill that was slowly turning his once sunny burning heart into a cloudy frozen berg.

How were the kids today?" asks Mr. Darling as he straightens his stance, pulling a small cloth out of his vest pocket and wiping his glasses.

"Fine. They miss you when you are gone at work but the day was, for the most part, uneventful. John is sleeping over at the Winston's home again tonight and Michael has been playing with the rest of the boys upstairs most of the day though he was upset earlier as it seems he has misplaced his bear" replies Mrs. Darling as she stops playing and looks towards her husband with a half-felt smile.

"And where is Wendy?" asks Mr. Darling casting his eyes toward the stairs.

"Where else…" responds Mrs. Darling flatly, averting her attention back to the piano to begin playing once more. Mr. Darling makes his way up the stairs to the nursery where he finds Wendy staring transfixed out the open window her gaze transfixed on the second star to the right just as she has been every night since their return. Gentle lips meet soft brown hair as he leans in and places a fatherly kiss on Wendy's head snapping her from her trance. Wendy turns and hugs her father's waist warmly in a clearly meant-to-be reassuring manner, as if saying 'see father I'm okay, I'm still here'.

"Wendy… Wendy… my precious Wendy. What is the thing that calls your heart back to that star every night?" asks Mr. Darling softly.

"It is not the star father, it is what lies beyond it" replies Wendy with dismay and longing.

"Wendy please… your mother and I love you, we only want to help you, don't you understand that?" begged Mr. Darling kneeling down next to Wendy.

"Yes, but you seek something I cannot give you" replies Wendy coldly as she turns her gaze back towards the stars.

"Cannot or won't" Mr. Darling snarls with frustration.

"Pick one." replies Wendy frustrated at her father's daily and constant questioning.

A loud crack echoes throughout the room as Mr. Darling's hand makes impact with Wendy's face sending her crashing down hard to the floor.

"It appears I will have to take more aggressive methods to find out the truth." Says Mr. Darling trying to regain his posture before turning and making his way out of the nursery, leaving a stunned Wendy sobbing on the nursery floor.

"I tried again with Wendy tonight" says Mr. Darling dismayed as he takes off his clothes and climbs into bed next to his wife.

"How did it go?" replies Mrs. Darling half-heartedly.

"Same as before except this time I… I..." says Mr. Darling voice shaky with regret, and frustration.

"You what?" Inquires Mrs. Darling turning to face her husband with concern.

"I hit her… For the first time in her life, I hit her. I have never hit any child before, but I was just so…"

"Afraid" says Mrs. Darling placing a soothing hand on Mr. Darling's cheek lovingly.

"Yes… afraid, we are losing her. All she does is stare out that window every night searching the heavens for who knows what. She hardly eats, she hardly speaks to us. I know you feel it to."

"I do but what can we do?"

"I do not know but I intended to find out" and with that said Mr. Darling turns of the light next to bed and then turning to his wife's soothing yet sparkless embrace as they both drift off to sleep.


	6. Lost Boys Found

Lost Boys Found:

( London, England, January 4th, 1905 C.E. )

The pale frozen surface of the Thames River glistens and sparkles under the morning sunlight parading it's way down through the partly cloudy winter sky. On a nearby riverside bench sits Mr. Darling lost in thought staring out over the festival of skaters frolicking on the frozen river as he continues to replay last night in his head over and over becoming more and more sure of his decision to take the step he was about to take. Mr. Darling's attention is abruptly brought back to the present as a familiar frigid touch surges through his shoulder causing him to turn to find Vincent Frost standing next to him smiling warmly with his right hand resting casually on Mr. Darling's shoulder.

"I thought we would be meeting again soon. Why the sudden change of heart?" says Vincent as he takes a seat on the bench next to Mr. Darling radiating his unearthly chill that seemed so in contrast to his uncommonly warm demeanor.

"Listen, I don't know how you know about what is going on in my family but I do know that everything I have tried so far to get to the truth has failed and all my efforts have done is cause me to hurt the ones I love the most. You seem to think you can help me so… here I am." says Mr. Darling as Vincent just nods understandingly.

"Look Mr. Darling we know this is hard for you, but we really do only wish to help." replies Vincent.

"Here look… we have already discovered the true identities of those boys you have staying with you, it would appear the Lost Boys were not always so lost after all." continues Vincent as he proceeds to pull a set of files out of his briefcase, presenting them to Mr. Darling.

"Really?" responds Mr. Darling casting his gaze to the first of the files opened up before him.

"First on our list is this child, do you know him?" asks Vincent as he begins guiding Mr. Darling through the contents of the first file.

"Yes... he is one they call Slightly… so he was not always so dirty and wild looking" responds Mr. Darling with a smile.

"Indeed, the boy you call Slightly was once known as Jared , of 251 B Baker Street, went missing twenty years ago. He was the second son of the well-to-do Mr. and Mrs. Willard, the case was originally handled by one Detective Holmes and his partner Dr. Watson but even they were unable to provide a logical explanation for Jared's highly mysterious disappearance."

"This can't be right… it can't be…. went missing over twenty years ago, that's just not possible. There is no way he is that old, you can tell just by looking at him. it's just impossible" replies Mr. Darling shocked.

"You mean impossible like your children vanishing without a trace out of a second story window in the middle of the night." counters Vincent.

"Look I am sorry but you are asking me to believe the impossible." responds Mr. Darling.

"No I am asking you to believe the truth."

"Very well continue." replies Mr. Darling with a sigh of surrender.

"Funny thing is Slightly is actually something of an anomaly among the Lost Boys, no doubt why he is the second in command in their little troop." Continues Vincent as he resumes guiding Mr. Darling through the contents of the first file.

"How do you mean?" asks Mr. Darling intrigued.

"Well all the other children went missing from Kensington Gardens Orphanarium but on the other hand Slightly vanished from his own house while his parents were sleeping peacefully in their nearby room, so he is not an orphan like others and given his family's socioeconomic status he is the only one who comes from a well-off family. Of course in the end these difference are of little consequence. So moving on to the next boy on our list we have this boy, I assume you know him?" continues Vincent as he opens up the next file, pulling out a photo and showing it to Mr. Darling.

"Yes he is the one called Tootles." responds Mr. Darling.

"Yes well Tootles was once Shawn W. Prestin, an orphan who went missing sixteen years ago."

"This is just so weird. Who's next?" presses Mr. Darling.

"Well how about these twins?" replies Vincent putting away the file on Tootles and opening up the next file removing from it a picture of twin young boys.

"Yes I know these two but so far I do not know what they call themselves they are rather quite actually" responds Mr. Darling.

"Well they were once known as Samuel and Jacob Muldrow. again orphans both went missing together about six years ago." replies Vincent casually.

"What about the other two boys, Nibs and Curly?" asks Mr. Darling curiously.

"Are these boys them?"asks Vincent as he puts back the file on the Muldrow Twins and pulls out another file removing from it two photos and showing them to Mr. Darling.

"Yeah that's them alright" answers Mr. Darling.

"Well according to our info they both went missing about eleven years ago. The one called Curly is actually Gideon Andrew Sullin and the one called Nibs was once Richard G. Fisher again both orphans... So given all this information let's take stock shall we?" says Vincent placing all the files except one back into his briefcase, turning his contemplative gaze to the festival of skaters.

"We know all these boys except Slightly were orphans and all of them except Slightly went missing from the same orphanarium and we know that all of them have somehow managed to vanish off the face of the Earth for several years and then return without having aged a day. Oh and I almost forgot there was one more child. Do you know him?" asks Vincent pulling out one last image, this time a very old sketch rather than a photo out of the last remaining file.

"Another child you say" replies Mr. Darling as he bestows his attention to the sketch.

"No I don't know him? Is he connected to this some how?" asks Mr. Darling curiously.

"We are not sure, all we know is that he went missing mysteriously like the other boys from same orphanarium but the interesting thing is unlike the other boys who went missing in fairly recent times this boy went missing in the 1790s.

"Well it would make sense for him to be connected to all of this then but this boy was not among the boys my children brought home so there's nothing I can tell you about him."

"Strange, because he is not just part of the pattern in these disappearances, he seems to be the origin point." replies Vincent in a somewhat disappointed tone.

"Look thank you for all this info but how did you get this and how does knowing this help me with my daughter, she still is not going to tell me the truth." asks Mr. Darling politely.

"It helps because there is likely more to the truth than even she knows and the more we know the more we can help her without her telling us anything if need be. However if you do insist on getting the truth from her directly we have better methods than hitting her." explains Vincent coolly. Mr. Darling looks down at his hands, hanging his head in shame.

"Now before we go any further I must insist on behalf of the organization that I represent that we make this arrangement official. Here is how this will work; you give us your oath of secrecy and allegiance and in exchange we will not only help you get the truth but we will also open your eyes to the world that lies behind this one. So do we have a deal?" asks Vincent holding out his hand to Mr. Darling.

"Yes… I suppose we do" answers Mr. Darling as he shakes Vincent's hand sealing the deal and in time the fate of his family for generations to come.


End file.
